'I don't want your pity, Granger,' he seethes. 'I'm still in your debt. I haven't made amends yet.' 'Oh, so you're planning to?' she asks more cheekily than she is feeling. Malfoy's eyes flash as if she had challenged him to a duel. 'Is there something you need? Just say the word and I'll give it to you. Or do you prefer actions? I'm willing to do fucking anything...' Hermione's heart is beating indecently fast. She masks her fascination with a sceptically raised eyebrow. 'Anything,' she echoes. 'Anything,' he confirms. 'All right, then. For starters, I'd like you to stop crowding me against this bookshelf.'

It looked as if a rainbow was springing up right behind him. Or as if he was standing in the middle of one of the kaleidoscopes that Hermione used to hoard in her toy box. Or as if rays of sunshine were falling through stained glass and casting the prettiest prism on him. He was beautiful. It. It was beautiful. His aura, not him.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ • Draco didn't fall off his broom just like that, and thank you very much. As a matter of fact, he couldn't remember ever falling off his broom without some massive external force being involved. Tsk, leave it to Granger to literally knock him off his broom for the first time in his life.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏʀᴛsᴛᴏʀʏ • Several times, in fact. As if one time wasn't bad enough. The worst thing was that she couldn't even blame him, the pompous git. / Or: the five times Hermione accidentally kneels in front of Draco Malfoy, and the one time she does it on purpose.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ • When Draco looked up, he realized that the only reason her arse had greeted him first was because she was bent over Ronald Weasley's desk, feeding the undeserving git biscuits. He felt as if someone had ripped his heart from his chest, dipped it in black ink, left it to freeze on the snowy shore of the Black Lake, and then smashed it into a million pieces with a Beater's bat. Poetic, yes, but painful as fuck. 'Fall in love, they said. It'll be fun, they said,' he thought bitterly. 'Been there, done that, and it's nothing but a giant pile of shit.'

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ • Hermione is a rebel. She knows better than anyone that the line between good and evil is thin. That thin line is grey. Like Malfoy's eyes. Now he's here, at headquarters, equal parts provocation incarnate and persistent glimmer of hope.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ • Draco defects to the Resistance. His Dark Mark is gone, he renounces Occlumency, the deadness abates. And mysteries intrigue him. Granger is such a mystery. A dark, magnificent, awe-inspiring one.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ • Draco likes it hot, so sauna is his drug of choice.

A Guide by Hermione Granger.

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏʀᴛsᴛᴏʀʏ • Why was Malfoy in Marrakesh? In the very week the Ministry had chosen for her business trip? It had to be coincidence. Or maybe kismet. Which in the Islamic belief meant something like divine dispensation or predestined fate. But in relation to Malfoy and her, that didn't make much sense. And it was bollocks anyway.